


incentivize

by pbandwhey



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, also: liberal use of the word wager, anyways there's basically no plot or sense, feat. grown men acting like teenagers, kissing bets? kissing wagers?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 05:11:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11593623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pbandwhey/pseuds/pbandwhey
Summary: Normally, Sid doesn’t feel a sense of impending doom when he gets an assist.





	incentivize

**Author's Note:**

> The game used in this is the 1-22-17 game against Boston. Unbeta'd.

Normally, Sid doesn’t feel a sense of impending doom when he gets an assist.

He should be _happy,_ damnit. They’ve started out the second period just right, with Rusty scoring eighteen seconds in, but the only thing Sid can think about are the twenty-plus pairs of knowing eyes leering at him. Which include Rusty’s.

“I only got an assist because you scored, you fuck.” They pull away from their celly to skate towards the bench, Rusty laughing at him all the way.

“If you think I’m that bad,” Rusty chuckles, “then you probably shouldn’t look at Geno.”

_________________________

It had started with Flower, because of course it did.

The whole team takes shootout practice seriously, and Sid is no exception. But Sid is thanking his lucky stars that the drill for today doesn’t involve the loser growing a mustache, because Flower has managed to stonewall Sid for each shot.

Sid curses after Flower swipes away yet another shot attempt. He skates back towards the point as Geno comes forward to take his shot.

Geno grins before he takes off. “Watch, I show you how to score.” He dekes back and forth before taking a high shot aimed over Flower’s shoulder—which hits Flower’s shoulder and bounces uselessly to the side. Sid giggles when he hears Geno’s loud cursing interspersed with Flower’s even louder chirps.

Sid’s still laughing when Geno circles back to him. “Wow, you sure showed me, eh?”

“Shut up,” Geno grumbles. “You not score either.”

Sid hums. “Bet I will tonight.” He nudges Geno’s shoulder. “Don’t feel any pressure to join me, though. I know Boston’s defense is tough for you.” Sid isn’t looking, but he can picture the face Geno must be making at that: eyebrows knit together, mouth dropped open in fake outrage.

“You say bet?” Geno moves to stand in front of Sid, glaring down at him. “We make bet.”

“I didn’t mean that literally, you goon, but sure.” Sid shrugs with one shoulder, looking up to meet Geno’s eyes. “What do you want to wager?”

“Wager?” Sid jumps, he hadn’t noticed Flower skating up to them. “On what, which of you can fail to score the most today?”

Geno facewashes him—which, considering Flower has a goalie mask on, isn’t very effective. “Go away. No one talking to you.”

More teammates notice them huddled together. Horny skates over. “What are we talking about?”

“Sid and G need some ideas for a little wager they’re having.”

Sid scoffs. “Flower, I don’t remember asking you.”

Flower slings an arm around his shoulder. Sid flinches away. “Stop that, your glove smells terrible.”

“Pucker up, because you’re gonna get it in your face for saying that.” Sid tries to pull away, but Flower holds him in place and smothers him. Sid can hear him laughing, and suddenly Flower stops. “Wait, I got it.”

Sid jerks away. “You’re an asshole. Got what?”

Flower spreads his arms. “I have the incentive for your bet!” He waggles his eyebrows. “You guys kiss.”

“What,” Sid says, trying to sound as unimpressed as he feels.

“For every goal, you kiss his mouth. For every assist, you kiss his cheek. It’s simple.”

“I like it!” Horny laughs. “It’s like a celly, but better!”

“How is it any better than a normal celly?” Sid frowns. “That doesn’t even count as an incentive.”

Sid hears an offended gasp next to him. He looks over to see Geno scowling. “I kiss best. You _wish_ you could have.” Which—isn’t far from the truth, but Sid’s definitely not telling anyone that.

He opens his mouth to argue, but then he hears the sharp piercing sound of a whistle behind him. “I didn’t realize we were holding practice so you could all stand around doing nothing!” Sid flinches; an angry Coach Sullivan is never a good thing. “Get fucking moving!”

Sid can’t call it off, which is how the wager sticks.

___________________________

So yeah, going by the bench is difficult.

Against his own better judgement, Sid does end up looking at Geno when he skates by for the post-goal fistbumps. Which—bad idea, since Geno’s eyes are hooded over, and he’s smirking, and his tongue darts out over his lower lip when he hits his fist against his, and Sid has to sit down. That isn’t the ideal situation either, since the guys next to him are still laughing at him, but at least he can’t see Geno from where he’s sitting.

Nine minutes later, Sid gets another assist, this time on Shearsy’s goal. He’s isn’t as rattled by the looks most of his teammates shoot him when they go past the bench this time, but Geno’s smirk still makes his throat go dry. Flower makes kissing noises at him when Sid sits on the bench.

“Two assists in ten minutes?” Flower teases. “This is really getting you going, isn’t it?” Sid just scowls at him, but Flower continues. “Is Geno going to wait until the game’s over, or do you think he’s gonna plant them on you during intermission?”

“Fuck off. I don’t know.” Sid scoots farther away on the bench while Flower laughs at him. “Shut up!”

He isn’t _more_ motivated because of the dumb incentive thing. He’s always motivated. There isn’t a moment that passes during a game where Sid isn’t thoroughly motivated. He hates losing more than anything. And they’re playing the Bruins, who are always fun to beat. So no, the team deciding that the best reward for Sid is getting kissed by the resident bully isn’t at all what’s making him have a multi-point night.

Sid would be lying if he said it didn’t have _some_ effect on him, but it doesn’t motivate him. If anything, it throws him off, thinking about the team laughing at him, about Geno laughing at him, looking at him with those hooded eyes and licking his lips because Geno’s lips are always chapped, and Sid wonders how they’d feel, whether they’d be rough or soft and—

It throws him off. Not to the point of playing badly, of course. Sid’s a professional, and he’s been dealing with distractions like Geno since—well, since Geno escaped from a bathroom in Finland.

Boston scores once, but the mood in the locker room during second intermission is upbeat. Sid tries to keep a low profile, since he doesn’t know if Geno’s planning to get him during intermission or wait until after the game. He’s aware of Geno’s presence around the locker room, but he doesn’t look at him, which _isn’t_ hiding, no matter what the knowing look on Jake’s face says.

Sid manages not to talk to Geno, but then they’re lining up to go back out on the ice, and—right. Their handshake. He sighs, positioning himself at the end of the line, waiting for everyone else to go out in front of him. Geno comes up at the rear, going through the motions of their regular handshake. He leans in, and Sid thinks he’s just going to bump their visors together like usual, but at the last second Geno pushes up Sid’s helmet and very smugly says “Two assists,” before he ducks in to press a quick kiss to each of his cheeks. It’s chaste and nothing Sid hasn’t felt before, and he realizes how much he was overreacting to the whole production. This is fine. He can handle this just fine. It’s actually funny, when he thinks about it. They’ll finish the game, trade whatever ki— _incentives_ come from the third period, the team will chirp them, they’ll all go out to a bar or something, and it’ll be old news by the time the next game rolls around.

Geno straightens up, shoving Sid’s helmet back into place with one hand. He grins. “Time to go, Sid.”

Sid laughs. “Good luck.” He turns to walk out, and Geno slaps him on the back.

Lower back. Lower, lower back—okay, it’s a locker room ass tap, something Sid’s been on the giving and receiving ends of hundreds of times. Way, way more often than Russian cheek kisses. His and Geno’s handshake-plus-stick-or-hand-ass-tap routine settles him. Except for today, apparently, because now he’s all tense again, and the ease he felt just a moment ago has evaporated.

Well, at least there’s more hockey to play.

Then again, maybe that’s the problem.

_______________________

Geno gets a nice secondary assist shortly into the third period. Conor elbows Sid on the bench, ooh-ing, and Sid rolls his eyes. He can peck Geno on the cheek without getting flustered, he’s played with plenty of Europeans. It was fine earlier.

Conor scores just over a minute later, and Sid doesn’t have an assist on it. Which is just fine with him.

Then Belesky from the Bruins gets a crosschecking penalty, and the Pens head out on their first powerplay of the game.

Sid scores six seconds into it. It’s not often his internal monologue goes _fuck yeah—shit, wait, no, it’s fine—fuck._

Geno slides into the celly last—another secondary assist—and Sid immediately tries to ignore him. Geno’s the worst. His team is the worst. This game is the—well, actually, they’re beating Boston five to one. This game is fine. In fact, this game is the only thing making Sid happy right now. He’d be perfectly okay with this game going on forever. Maybe Boston can scrounge up four more goals and they’ll go into a never-ending shootout. He’d have to look at Chara’s weird giant body for longer than he’d prefer, but he can deal.

Seeing Geno get a two-minute penalty is both annoying and satisfying. Jake elbows Sid while they’re on the bench. “Is that, like, a violation of the system? Like is there a rule that if he gets a penalty, you kiss him one less time?”

“That’s—huh.” Sid considers it. “I guess that works?”

Tanger leans over. “I’ll allow it.” He cups his hands in front of his face to yell at Flower. “Geno gets one less kiss per penalty!”

Flower nods and shoots them a thumbs-up. When Geno gets back to the box a few minutes later, Sid sees Flower relay the information. Geno looks grumpy when he sits down, which he completely deserves.

Wilson and Belesky get into a fight at the very end of the period, but otherwise the rest of the game is fairly uneventful. Sid’s in a good mood even though he knows the locker room is going to be annoying. For once, he’s grateful for the media scrum that’s gathered around his stall. He doesn’t, however, appreciate the eyebrow-waggling from Geno from behind the reporters’ backs.

The reporters finish up their questions, and Sid tries to delay the inevitable yet again, glancing around until his eyes land on Sullivan. He pulls him aside.

“Hey, Sully, I just wanted to talk to you about our, um,” Sid pauses. “Our powerplay.”

Sullivan claps him on the shoulder. “We’ll go over tape tomorrow. Enjoy the win, Sidney, five-one games don’t come every night.” He smirks. “Maybe we should use your guys’ “incentive program” more often.”

Sid groans. “You, too?” _Et tu, Brute?_ He thinks he understands how Julius Caesar felt, though at this point he might actually prefer a knife in his back. Sullivan’s already walking away.

Sid sighs. He goes to the showers.

When he gets out, Sid’s at least given enough time to get fully dressed before he hears someone clear their throat behind him. He turns to find Geno already in his personal space. Sid jumps a little. “Jesus, Geno, you scared me.”

Geno pokes his tongue out between his teeth. “Sorry.” He isn’t sorry, the massive asshole. “Time you pay up. I get two.”

Sid narrows his eyes. “You know damn well that you only get one now. You got a penalty.”

“Mean.” Geno crouches down, exaggerating how far he needs to lower himself. He huffs when Sid doesn’t immediately lean in. “Come on, Sid, not have all night—“

“Fine, fine, just—“ Sid raises his hand to turn Geno’s face to the side, darting in to just barely press his lips to Geno’s cheek. He retreats just as quickly. “There. You got yours.”

He hears Tanger booing from the back of the room. “That was lame, Sid! No wonder you’re single!”

“Fuck _off,_ Tanger.” He wants to chirp back some more, but Geno’s already moving his hand towards Sid’s jaw like he’s about to angle Sid towards him, and he’s leaning in, and Sid must’ve done a far better job kissing his cross necklace tonight, because God takes pity on him and at that moment his cell phone starts going off; Taylor’s ringtone.

“Sorry, I need to get that.” He pulls away, scrabbling in his pocket for his phone and unlocking it as he steps out into the hallway. “Hey, Taylor, what’s up?”

“ _Great game tonight, big bro. How’s Geno?”_

“Um, he’s good, I guess.” Sid says. “Why do you ask?”

_“Just curious. Flower texted me about your weird kiss bet.”_

“Oh, my god. Why are you texting Flower? Why is Flower texting you?” He sighs. “You know what, I don’t care. I’m using you as an excuse to leave before Geno plants one on me. Stay on the line.”

Taylor hangs up. Well, Sid’s a good enough actor to pretend the call’s still going. Thankfully, his keys are in his pocket. He left his scarf and coat behind, but Sid grew up in Canada. He can handle a cold walk to his car.

Maybe he’s overreacting, but Sid just doesn’t want to deal with this tonight. He shivers when he gets out of the building, but he jogs on over to his car and gets in as quickly as he can.

Traffic is bad, but he gets home without incident. As soon as he gets to the door, however, his phone starts going off. The caller ID shows that it’s Geno. Sid braces himself before answering. “Hello?”

“ _Where you go? Leave so quick I can’t kiss you.”_

“Sorry, I forgot.” Sid lies. “I’m just kind of tired, y’know, so I decided to, uh, head on home.”

“ _You an old man now? Come out to bar with us. Too early, have to celebrate.”_

“No, no, I’m probably gonna turn in early. You guys have fun, though, eh? Tell everyone I said good job.” Sid hangs up before Geno can respond. He leaves the phone on his kitchen counter when he heads inside, moving upstairs to change into sweats and an old t-shirt. There’s leftover chicken parmesan from the night before, so Sid decides to heat that up; he’s starving.

He’s just put his plate in the dishwasher when he hears a knock on his door.

Sid frowns. When he passes by the counter on his way to answer it, he sees that the screen on his phone is all lit up. He grabs it and unlocks it to find a string of texts from Geno.

_Sid???_

_Okay??_

_Why aren’t you text back ((_

_You ignoring me?_

_Coming over, want to talk_

So that’s definitely Geno at the door. Son of a bitch. Sid wanted to avoid this conversation, but he takes a deep breath and opens the door anyways.

Geno’s hunched over against the cold. “Hi, Sid.” He’s shivering. “Can I come in? Too cold for standing in doorway.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Sid steps aside to let him in. He closes the door behind him, and Geno doesn’t even take off his coat before he starts talking.

“Sorry if I’m… offend you.” Geno rubs the back of his neck. “Not realize me and team go too far.”

Sid realizes that maybe he was the asshole about this whole thing all along. Geno looks like he’s trying to make himself look small, looking down at his own feet instead of at Sid’s face. Maybe if Sid had been clear about this being weird, Geno wouldn’t feel so guilty right now.

“No, no, you didn’t! I’m fine.” Sid says. “Seriously, I forgot. I was just tired. Don’t worry about it.”

Geno looks up, frowning at him. “You not forget things. If I offend you, I need to know.” He chuckles, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Can’t have captain run off again, bad for… mood?”

“Morale,” Sid corrects him, mostly on autopilot. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have ditched you guys. I’m okay, really.” His voice cracks on the last word. Damnit.

Geno steps closer, putting his hands on Sid’s shoulders. “Know you upset. Maybe I’m push too much.”

Sid shakes his head, trying to shrug out of Geno’s grasp, but Geno holds him in place. “It’s fine. It’s not like you were the only one. I mean, I agreed to the whole—incentive thing in the first place.” He’s looking to the side instead of at Geno now, and he knows it gives him away a little bit, but looking Geno in the face would give him away even more.

Geno definitely notices. “Look at me.”

Sid still doesn’t meet his eyes, electing instead to look at his mouth, which is what started this whole mess in the first place. Or, technically, Flower started this. But Geno’s lips made it weird.

“I’m still want to do award.”

Sid snaps his head up. “What?”

Geno smiles at him. He looks a little hopeful. “Want to follow through, if you want.”

“That’s not—that’s not necessary, honestly, getting goals is incentive enough, I swear.” Sid stutters as Geno leans in closer. “Don’t feel any pressure to—“ He can’t finish his sentence, however, because Geno’s mouth is currently on his.

Sid can’t help but let his eyes slide shut. He presses in a little, and he feels Geno hum a little and smile bigger against his mouth, but then Sid jerks back, cutting it off. Geno follows a little bit, making an unsatisfied noise. Sid shakes his head. “Okay, you kissed me. It’s done. We’re even.”

Geno’s pupils are blown, and he’s still staring at Sid’s mouth. “Maybe I don’t want to be done.”

Sid squeaks. “What?”

“Not dumb, Sid.” Geno glances back up to look Sid in the eye. “And you not subtle.”

“Fuck you, G, I’m not that obvious.” Geno raises an eyebrow, and Sid tries to backtrack. “Not that there’s anything to be obvious about.” Neither of them say anything for a few moments. Sid sighs. “Fine. Just—can we not talk about this? I’m trying to forget about it. I really am.” He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, opens them again. “Just—please don’t make this into a joke.”

Geno’s grip tightens around Sid’s shoulder. He rolls his eyes. “Like you lots, Sid, but you an idiot.” He moves one hand up to run his thumb along Sid’s cheekbone. “Not a joke.”

Sid stares back.

Oh.

“You’re serious.” Sid says, a little dazed. Geno grins at him, a little flushed, and Sid can’t help but grin back. “Fuck, you’re actually serious about this.”

“We done wasting time now, or…?”

“Yeah,” Sid breathes, “yeah, I think I’m good to go, except you, uh, forgot something.”

Geno blinks. “What?”

“I only scored once tonight. And you already kissed me, so.” Sid shrugs. “Guess we’re done.”

Geno glares at him. “What about all other goals? You have twenty-eight so far this season, Sid. Score a lot.”

“I score a lot, huh?” Sid raises a hand to brush over the hair at the nape of Geno’s neck. He can hear Geno’s breath hitch. “You gonna follow up on that, or what?”

“I follow up always,” Geno grumbles. He grasps the back of Sid’s head and pulls him in again. Sid goes happily.

Twenty-seven goals. Twenty-six goals. Twenty-five goals—

They get down to negative numbers pretty quickly.

**Author's Note:**

> If it seems like there was no planning behind this, it's because there wasn't. This is mostly a warmup for another thing that actually has a plot. Will I ever write this other fic? Stay tuned. (though the answer is probably not.)


End file.
